


Precious

by Reyn



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Harry, Bottom Draco, Dark Elves, HP: EWE, M/M, Master/Slave, Redeemed Draco, Sexual Slavery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-03
Updated: 2014-05-15
Packaged: 2018-01-11 00:36:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1166502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reyn/pseuds/Reyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry knew he was the "Savior of the Wizarding World". He just wasn't aware that title was known across every magical realm in Great Britain. Combine that with Draco Malfoy's renowned expertise in magical beings, and, much to their mutual displeasure, they find themselves teaming up for a risky diplomatic mission deep underground in Dark Elf territory.</p><p>To further complicate matters, Malfoy must pose as Harry's slave if they hope to stand even the slightest chance of success and get out of this in one piece.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Here we go, my official entrance back into the fanfic side of the Harry Potter fandom after so many years! I forsee this story being a ridiculously long one, and I hope you all enjoy each and every chapter should you choose to follow it from start to finish. I've never written a story of this nature before, so here's to hoping I don't wildly screw it up!

The Ministry elevator dinged, and the majority of its occupants shuffled out. Several paper planes, one origami helicopter, and a rather disgruntled goblin filed in.

“Maybe there’s been a breakthrough on the illegal market for gryphons?”

“Oh, go on, Harry. You’re thinking too logically again,” Ron chastised, feet moving him in a small arch to avoid being shoved aside by the goblin as she grumbled and made her way to the back of the lift. “Maybe _The Quibbler_ is filing for a newly-discovered species and the Lovegoods want you to back up their claim.”

The problem Harry saw with _that_ guess was that it was just as likely as his own as to why the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures would summon them so early in the day. But to keep things upbeat, he decided to play along.

“Maybe your fiancée got too carried away with another civil rights campaign and you have to bail her out again.”

Ron let out a bark of laughter. “That was _years_ ago!” he defended. “And she was completely smashed at the time!”

“It happened just last year, Ron.” Harry was honestly surprised his best friend had managed to wait another four months before asking Hermione to marry him. He had remained speechlessly in awe of her actions for weeks.

“Yeah, well, I’d be a bit worried if she was off getting smashed before ten in the morning.” The lift came to a jarring halt, eliciting an outraged shriek from the goblin as her feet gave out from under her.

Both aurors helped her to stand, ignoring her attempts at batting their hands away. As the elevator doors opened, she ran out, squawking about “handsy government officials” and “caged death traps.”

For courtesy’s sake, Ron and Harry gave her a moment’s head start before following her out onto the floor.

“Maybe!” Harry nearly jumped at Ron’s exclamation. “Maybe someone’s discovered that you’re not entirely human and your long lost troll side of the family has come to claim their familial ties.”

Harry laughed at the image that procured – a family of mountain trolls, precariously balanced on tiny waiting room chairs, all weeping into even tinier handkerchiefs – and shook his head. “If that’s the case, why’s your name listed on that paper, too?”

Pulling out the crumpled memo from his pocket, Ron shrugged. “Moral support?” he offered as they approached the main reception desk for the Magical Creature Department.

Ron stopped short of handing over the summons, though. Instead, his smile froze on his face and he stared.

Behind the desk wasn’t a witch, but a—

“What?” the mouse adjusted its horn-rimmed glasses and glared. “I’m having a bad week, alright?”

It darted up, snatched the paper out of Ron’s hands, and ran across the desk to the large stamp pad. Both men exchanged a glance as they watched the creature struggle to lift up the stamp and slam it down on the paper with enough force to matter.

“Do you nee—”

“No!”

Harry drew back, lips pressing together at Ron’s snort of amusement.

“There we go,” the receptionist mouse huffed out, taking the stamped memo and spearing it with all the other memos. “Whew! Once this curse wears off, my figure is going to look great with all this core work!” A small paw rubbed at a furred stomach. “Beings Division. Conference Room Four. They’re only somewhat expecting you.”

Nodding their thanks, Harry and Ron continued on their way, earlier joking put aside for more serious inquiries as to why someone from the Beings Division took the time to summon them specifically.

“Couldn’t be a riot or anything – they’d just grab one of the aurors circling on security detail,” Ron muttered. “You don’t suppose Kreacher’s got himself into any kind of trouble, do you?”

Harry shook his head. It was possible, but even more unlikely than him discovering he was part-troll. House-elves had a knack for flying under every radar, including the Ministry’s. If Kreacher ever got himself into trouble, Harry would only find out about it once he got home.

The door to Conference Room Four was unlocked, leaving Harry to hastily knock as Ron made this discovery, causing the two of them to get a bit stuck in the entrance while following the door’s inward movement.

Several thoughts flew through Harry’s mind as both he and Ron popped out of the doorframe and headed face-first towards the floor. The first thought was that he hoped there weren’t any magical beings present to witness this, because they were doing wonders for mankind’s image. The pointed ears on two of the room’s occupants immediately dashed that hope. The second was that blond head near the potted plant looked awfully familiar. The third was that Director Viknish Singh, head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, looked entirely too happy to see them stumbling through his door and landing face first on the entrance rug.

“Ah, excellent! Now that Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley are here, we can get started on envoy details.”

“Excuse me?” The polite disbelief that was set off by the sneer encompassed Malfoy’s personality so completely that if Harry had any doubts about his identity before, they were gone now. “What do you mean ‘now that they’re here’ – this is _my_ mission!! You _told_ me this was my mission!!”

 “It is, but—”

“I’m the field expert! How dare you go behind my back and undermine my authority—”

“Mr. Malfoy, I promise you I did not do this to undermine anyone’s authority.” From his seat at the head of the conference table, Director Singh calmly raised his hand to stop any further protest. “But based on what has been explained to me, we are going to need someone like them if we wish to even stand a chance in helping those who have asked for our aid.” His hand moved to encompass two elegantly dressed elves who were seated with their backs to the doors, heads tilted towards one another as they held a private conversation that came off as nothing short of melodious when Harry tried to listen in.

Malfoy responded to Singh’s words with a snarl, a sound Harry had only heard emerge from Draco Malfoy’s mouth during fist fights back at Hogwarts.

Following Ron’s nudge, Harry shuffled along the wall, moving to stand in a better location that physically put them in the conversation without having to deal with the brunt of Malfoy's fury.

“We are sorry, Young Master Malfoy,” one of the elves addressed in English with an apologetic nod, her voice tinkling with regret. “Through our conversations, we have determined you truly are an expert on elven races, but your past reputation, sadly, will not work to our favor.”

Malfoy ‘s eyes narrowed. “Oh, and of course Potter’s would.” Eyes remaining on the two across from him, he barked out, “Weasley! Do you know what dark elves worship?”

Ron, who had been smiling at Harry, thinking they had made it in without incurring any misplaced wrath blinked in surprise. “What?”

Malfoy twisted his entire body so that he was now facing the aurors. “Elves, Weasley. The Drow. The Elusive Elven of the Caves. Dark. Elves. What do they worship?”

Ron exchanged a look with Harry, who was just as clueless. There were cave-elves?

“Er…”

“Spiders,” Malfoy answered crisply, cutting off Ron's thoughtful utterance.

“…Spiders?”

The distinct lack of bravado in Ron’s echo encouraged Director Singh to cut in. “Malfoy…”

“Yes, Weasley.” Malfoy went on, ignoring the warning. “Giant ones. Bigger than the likes you’ve ever seen.”

Speech completely failed Ron at that point, as he was no doubt recalling the last group of giant spiders they had encountered and was now imagining _bigger_. He paled considerably.

“Sir,” Harry stepped forward, coming to stand directly behind one of the room’s chairs. “If giant spiders are involved – especially live ones – I’m afraid we can’t accept this mission. Er, that is, assuming we were called here for a mission debriefing?”

“Please, Harry Potter,” the other elf implored, leaning forward in his chair. He turned to look directly at Harry, giving him his first full look ever at an elf.

His immediate impression was that normal elves looked nothing like house-elves, which he assumed were some sort of distant cousin.  For one, their heads were perfectly proportioned to the rest of their bodies, and from their seated position, they didn’t seem to be much shorter than the average human.

The eerie thing about them was their almost doll-like features. Their skin was perfect with spots of rouge tinting their cheeks. Their mouths were disconcertingly small, and set off by pale amber eyes that were large, bright, and far too serious. Then there was their silvery hair. It was at complete odds with their elegant clothing, and defied gravity in its swept-up style, starting off straight and ending in wild curls. And finally, there were their ears. Their ears which, while remaining close to their head, shot up in long, thin points that looked almost _lethal_.

Both elves were wrapped in cloaks of deep purple, the material of which looked so exquisite, that Harry couldn’t help but glance over at Malfoy to use his clothes as a basis for comparison on just how high class these elves might be.

“You are quite possibly our last hope in this matter!”

The elf sounded quite indigent, but that was most likely because of Harry’s wandering gaze.

As a result, he caught the sudden stiffening in Malfoy’s shoulders before his previous anger vanished behind an impassive mask. Malfoy made a show of standing to roll and gather up the assorted parchments that had been scattered around him on the table.

“Since I can no longer recall the reason as to why I’m here, I shall just be taking my leave, then.”

The potted plant was large enough to prevent a smooth escape from what was probably the preferred route, forcing Malfoy to squeeze between the aurors with as much dignity as possible on his way to the doors. Unfortunately, his dignity couldn’t do much when Harry’s hand shot out to grab him by the arm.

If asked, Harry’s excuse would be that the Auror Department had constant memos flying about, practically pleading for all the aurors to _please_ try harder to not offend anyone of notable influence, especially if they had ties to the Ministry.

Harry was one of the many guilty of refusing to give respect where it wasn’t due, but seeing as how he still had no reason to like Malfoy after all these years, he allowed professionalism to dictate his actions.

“Don’t you think you’re being a bit rude to your guests?”

If later asked to defend his actions, Harry planned on pointing out that whatever material the purple cloaks were made out of far outshone Malfoy’s robes, thus ranking them higher and more deserving of his unwarranted respect.

Malfoy’s sneer formed after eyeing Harry’s grip long enough to realize the man wasn’t about to let go. “No more rude than it was to call me here under painfully false pretenses,” he responded, meeting Harry’s glare with a defiant one of his own.

Harry was ready to argue. Elf rights were still practically nonexistent, and standing up for them was a small step in the right direction of a very long journey. It would give Hermione reason to be proud of him when they all met up for dinner. But before he could even open his mouth to start what would surely make for an excellent tale over pot roast, the first elf spoke up.

“Draco Malfoy is correct. While the nature of this mission is genuine, Ellm and I have decided upon a means of success that would work best without bothering to reveal the details to all parties involved.”

None of the wizards moved.

“And for that we apologize,” the elf said with a very put upon sigh. “But before any of you choose to leave, we would be very grateful if you would all at least stay long enough to hear our story.”

Harry looked over at Ron who shrugged and stepped forward to pull out a chair. This placement put him in Malfoy’s escape path, causing Malfoy to quietly curse and yank his arm free before begrudgingly returned to his previous seat now that he could no longer make a smooth exit.

Harry debated on remaining standing, but when he noticed both elves staring at him, he found himself sliding into a chair.

“Harry Potter, son of Lily and James Potter.” The elves bowed their heads. “Ronald Weasley, child of the Weasley clan.” They bowed again. “Thank you for agreeing to meet with us. I am Fyrhe, daughter of Cedere and Hymlic. My companion here is Ellm, child of the Ulmtre family.”

Both Harry’s and Ron’s heads awkwardly bobbed in greeting.

“Before we begin, if you please, Harry Potter, what _do_ you know of the drow?”

Harry’s eyes widened with slight panic. He’d never even heard of the race before today. He had no idea how to admit such a thing without running the risk of insulting the elves before him, seeing as how they so clearly knew so much about him. His gaze flitted between the two elves, trying to piece together physical facts he could make up based on observation, when a folded piece of parchment skidded across the table and into his arm.

He looked over in the direction it came from and scowled at Malfoy, whose hard stare refused to waver as his eyes darted from Harry to the note and back to Harry several times over.

Taking the hint, Harry picked up the note and opened it, ignoring the groan and muttered Punjabi curses coming from Director Singh.

‘ _These are high elves, NOT DROW. And don’t you dare compare the two races together. You’ll only embarrass yourself._’

Harry mentally cringed. His first planned words were almost, “I know you guys worship spiders.” It seemed like a different approach was needed.

Folding the note back up, Harry took his time tucking it into the chest pocket of his robe before resting his arms on the conference table.

“Unfortunately,” he began, choosing his words carefully, “not much. Our resident ‘field expert’ over here tends to keep his research close to his wand.”

“I see.” Fyrhe’s head tilted to the side, her amber eyes sparkling with innocent inquiry. “You did not learn of the different elf races in your education?”

Harry winced. He probably wouldn’t even know much about house-elves if not for his personal encounters and Hermione’s extensive research on the subject.

“His schooling was sorely lacking when it came to properly teaching its students about magical creatures,” Malfoy put in, oh-so helpfully. “So you can hardly blame them for that. Every school has its strengths and weaknesses.”

Outrage flooded through Harry on Hagrid’s behalf, but before he could properly defend his friend, Ron was leaning forward.

“Oi! It was your schooling, too, you know!”

“Yes, and despite the shortcoming we all suffered through, which one of us has a Certificate of Expertise hanging on their wall?”

Ron’s mouth hovered open for a moment, obviously going through and discarding numerous comebacks until he simply gave up and slouched back in his chair, his face red, and his arms petulantly crossed before him.

Fyrhe, recognizing the short argument was finished, continued on. “Very well. I shall share with you their tale. Many, many equinoxes ago, before even the birth of the tallest oak, back when the stars were still new in their current alignments, there were—”

“With all due respect, Lady Fyrhe,” Singh interrupted, his smile nothing short of benign politeness, “I don’t think they have time for the full history. Perhaps focusing on more recent events would be best.”

“But how are they to learn about the inherently evil nature of the dark elves if they know not of their history?” Ellm demanded at Fyrhe’s hesitance.

“They’re aurors,” Malfoy pointed out, as if that held all the answers. “They’re trained to recognize evil through current actions more than historical ones.”

Ron shifted in his seat so that he was leaning towards Harry. “Why did that sound like an insult?” he muttered.

“Because everything that comes from a Malfoy’s mouth is intended to be demeaning,” Harry whispered back before straightening to address the crowd at large. “We’re also really good at spotting evil on written reports. Especially short ones. Or if you’d rather, we can head out now, and you can owl us Quick Quill Notes on what to expect for when we get there.”

The dark glares from both Malfoy and Director Singh let Harry know his less than sincere suggestions were unappreciated.

“We’re big on efficiency,” he said in way of explanation, kicking Ron under the table when a snort sounded to his right.

“Would that truly be best?” Fyrhe asked, eyes wide with hope as she turned to Singh for his input.

“You two,” a dark threatening finger pointed between Malfoy and Harry, “are lucky that sarcasm is a trait only recognized by humans and leprechauns.”

Malfoy’s eyes glittered with malice. “Oh, but just think, Viknish. It could be so much more fun if we did things Potter’s way.”

“Ha! Fun. Yes. Right up until I have Minister Shacklebolt personally pounding down my door, demanding to know why his favorite aurors are dead because they failed to take the threat of dark elves seriously!” That wiped the smirks off everyone’s faces. But Singh wasn’t done. “And, oh, what’s this? An official investigation into what went wrong!” He held up a blank piece of parchment and pointed at it. “Look, Draco. Your name is down for questioning. And you’re even special enough to have several notations next to it. Let’s see what they say, shall we?” The paper was held up to the light. “Field Expert on Magical Beings – consulted Harry Potter and Ron Weasley before—”

“Viknish, you’re embarrassing yourself. Again.” The bored drawl in Malfoy’s voice failed to match his angry scowl.

Harry found himself idly noting that Malfoy must never have been able to match his father’s skill in hiding his emotions for long behind a blank façade.

“Right, so, all joking and laughs aside, why don’t you tell us what exactly is going on with these drow?” Harry’s eyes flickered to Singh to make sure he had the name correct.

Ellm’s lip curled in scorn, picking up on the overall lack of respect in the room. “My Lady, are you sure it is still a wise choice to turn to these humans for assistance?”

“His mere existence as a child improved the livelihood of our distant cousins,” Fyrhe responded, a small smile playing across her face. “Even if the stories of his conquests since then prove to be false, that alone is enough to give us hope.”

Ellm’s sneer fell away in disbelief. “Which cousins? The drudge elves? But they are such a simple folk! Give them a spoon to polish and they consider themselves lucky! You can hardly compare—”

Fyrhe silenced him with a wave of her hand. “Be that as it may, Harry Potter is the one who single-handedly stopped a war amongst his own people at the very height of battle. Think of the wonders he could do before the battles have even begun.”

“Uhm,” Harry cleared his throat and fought down his bright blush. “It was hardly single—”

“Harry Potter, my clan are the last of the high elves in all of Albion,” Fyrhe continued sharply. “We are a peaceful race who care little for interacting with the outside world. The fact that you have two of our kind before you today is a mark of how desperate we truly are.”

“Great. Sooo what’s this got to do with dark elves?” Ron asked, placing his hands on the table. He could always be relied on to bring things back on track when Flattery Hour started – especially when people had the facts incorrect.

“They are threatening to erase our existence, Ronald Weasley.” Fyrhe shook her head sadly. “Normally, they, too, keep to themselves; too busy warring with one another to bother with the world outside their caverns. But there are prophesied events approaching, and rather than letting them play out, the drow are choosing to take action and change the course of their written futures.”

Ron’s gaze switched between the two elves. “Well, what’s the prophecy say?”

“We do not share such a twisted religion with the drow,” Ellm scoffed. “All that we know of it is merely from the boastings of the few dark ones we have in captivity after they tried attacking us.”

Harry didn’t bother suppressing an explosive sigh. “Lovely. Do we have any record of this prophecy in the Department of Mysteries?”

“Presuming they carry prophecies,” Director Singh pointed out with a shrug, reminding Harry how most people – including department heads – didn’t have a clue about what went on down on level nine.

“They do, but it’s hardly likely they care enough to include predictions from Elven Folklore,” Malfoy put in.

Harry frowned. “Why not?”

Malfoy’s eyebrows went up, as if surprised by the question. “Because believe it or not, Potter, governmental care for magical beings and creatures begins, and ends, with this department.”

“Okay, so what would our roll be in all of this?” Harry asked, waving a finger between himself and Ron.

“You—”

“Wait!” Ron interrupted. “Sorry, but we also want to know what Malfoy’s roll is as well.”

“He’s a field expert,” Harry reminded, turning his head to address his friend directly.

“Yeah, ‘field’,” Ron agreed, crossing his arms. “That puts him out on location more often than not.”

The exact meaning of the terminology had not occurred to Harry. He turned back to find Malfoy looking more than a little smug.

Harry was unable to contain his disbelief. “You’re expecting us to go on a mission with _him_?”

“Will that be a problem?” Fyrhe asked.

“We have irreconcilable differences,” Malfoy explained, his self-satisfied smirk morphing into something more accusatory. “It’s an extremely valid problem, but I have a feeling that’s what you were hoping for if you’re planning what I think you’re planning.”

Both elves raised their heads defiantly, making it obvious that they were unashamed of their scheming.

“Great. So there _is_ a plan.” Harry could feel his patience for their magical guests rapidly evaporating. “Care to fill in the aurors you called in to carry out this plan? Only try not to leave out any details as I’m guessing you’ve been doing with each new bit of information you’ve gleaned from our society.”

At this, the elves did look abashed.

After a moment of silence, it was Ellm who spoke. “As was said before in different words, dark elves often fight amongst themselves. They are an extremely prideful race who holds strong beliefs in power and their own twisted views of beauty. Differentiating opinions are a concept beyond their understanding. How they have managed to stay united all these years is anyone’s guess.”

“Regardless, they have managed to keep up a strong front for quite some time.” Fyrhe dismissed Ellm’s derisive description with the same cool indifference she had carried throughout most of the meeting. “Many creatures, of all races, choose to avoid the drow completely due to their reputation. But it is the stories that we tell our young ones that truly strike terror into our hearts.”

Ron raised his hand. “Is it the giant spiders? Because they certainly struck terror into my young heart.”

“The spiders are only to be feared if you wander into their territory.” Fyrhe explained with a shake of her head. “The stories tell of how the drow gain immense pleasure in taking prizes after their battles.”

“So, what?” Ron asked, failing to catch on. “We should check our pockets after every duel?”

Fyrhe’s attention was suddenly on Malfoy. “No, Ronald Weasley. The prize they prefer to take is the freedom of those who are unfortunate enough to lose against them.”

“What, like slaves? Is that even legal?”

Singh let out a cough. “As an auror, Mr. Weasley, we really shouldn’t be hearing that question come from you.”

“Well, obviously _we_ have laws against that, but, I mean, don’t elves have some sort of set rules that you all follow?”

Whatever the answer was, Harry didn’t hear it. He was too busy looking between Fyrhe and Malfoy, whose eyes were stubbornly fixed on his small pile of scrolls.

Despite the epiphany being slow in coming, it didn’t lessen the shock for Harry once the pieces all connected.

“Oh my _God_!” Next to him, Ron jumped at the shouted exclamation, which Harry decided warranted repeating. “Oh my God! You want us to send Malfoy in as a _slave_?”

Ron’s jaw dropped.

“Not just any slave.” Fyrhe finally pulled her gaze away from Malfoy to look at Harry. “ _Your_ slave.”

Jaw still hanging open, Ron’s eyes lit up like Christmas had just come early.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

“You’re joking,” Harry pleaded. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

He looked to Malfoy, hoping to find a mocking finger pointing in his direction or hear a scornful laugh, but Malfoy remained silent, his eyes still focused on the table before him. The only change in his demeanor was the pink tinge staining his pale cheeks.

“Your elder, Viknish Singh, has explained to us that this is an unprecedented idea amongst your kind, but we are quite positive it is the only way to ensure that the drow listen to you when you make your demands,” Fyrhe explained, her cloak silent as she shifted within it.

“By making Malfoy my slave?” Harry refused to buy it.

“It will be seen as a mark of power,” Ellm tried to further clarify. “Draco Malfoy was on the opposite side of your magical war – the war that you won. The drow will see him as a prize you have taken and will feel as if you relate to them. It will help to open their ears when you dissuade them from attacking us.”

Ron snorted. “Even with a slave to help validate him, that’s still putting a lot of faith in Harry’s negotiation skills.”

The questioning tilt in Fyrhe’s head had her looking more doll-like than ever. “Is it not the skill of an auror to negotiate peace between the dark and light?”

“’Negotiate’, sure, that’s a good term to use,” Ron agreed easily enough. “Although our definition of negotiating usually involves something more to back up our words.”

Fyrhe nodded in understanding. “Yes. And this is why we believe it to be a good idea to send Draco Malfoy as ‘the something’, as you put it, to back up Harry Potter’s words. Out of all of your former enemies, he would have his best chance at success as a slave thanks to his knowledge in elven customs.

Ron drew in a deep breath, and after a brief moment, let it out in an explosive sigh. “Yeah, alright, you can’t really argue with that logic, mate,” he conceded, rolling his head so that he was looking at his friend.

But Harry still refused to have any of it.

“Can’t your lot just…move? Relocate, to place yourselves out of harm’s way?” he suggested.

The way the elves stiffened, along with the groan that came from Malfoy, let Harry know that probably had not been a very wise idea to voice.

“Their magic is tied to the land, Mr. Potter,” Singh explained with a hint of exasperation, making Harry feel like he was a first year back in potions class. “Over the generations, they have poured much of themselves into those woods, and the woods have, in turn, given much back. For them to leave would be as much of a death sentence as facing the dark elves. The only difference is this would be a long, drawn out death.”

Bringing his hands to his face, Harry slid his fingers up under his glasses and rubbed at his eyes. “Alright, what about—”

“We’ve exhausted our other options, Auror Potter,” Singh interrupted. “We’ve offered to seal off whatever entrance the drow are coming through. We’ve offered to help further strengthen the wards around their forest. Against Malfoy’s recommendation, we appealed to your department, asking to send out reinforcements for protection. And as your department rightly pointed out, this falls outside any wizarding jurisdiction, and therefore, no, they will not.”

Adjusting his glasses back into place, Harry folded his hands on the table. “Have you tried asking someone else?”

Both elves seemed to startle at this.

“Are you saying you won’t help us?” Fyrhe’s cool façade had cracked in faint alarm.

“Er, no! No, I just…” Harry struggled to come up with a convincing lie. “I believe in – there’s always a choice when…Malfoy, can I talk to you for a second?”

He made it a point to avoid eye contact as he stood, refusing to give Malfoy the chance to gleefully deny the awkward request.

Once outside the conference room, he looked up and down the corridor, trying to gauge just how much privacy they would receive in this relocation. The sad answer was not much. The place bustled with the usual level of Ministry activity, leaving Harry to hope everyone was busy enough to not eavesdrop on what was sure to be an uncomfortable conversation.

“Really, Potter, I don’t see what’s stopping you from just telling our guests you don’t care if their homestead gets raped and pillaged,” Malfoy drawled as he stepped out, shutting the door firmly behind him. “It’s pretty obvious your level of caring falls in with the rest of the Magical Law Enforcement.”

Ignoring the jab, Harry turned around, grabbed the blond’s arm, and dragged him down several doorways. “Malfoy, there’s no way you could possibly be okay with this.”

Thin eyebrows arched in presumption. “Okay with preventing mass slaughter? With saving an entire species? With attempting to preserve some of the enriching history of our land and it’s magic?” Malfoy pulled his arm free and straightened his sleeve. “You’re right, it must be the former Death Eater in me.”

Gritting his teeth against the rise that Malfoy was successfully trying to get out of him, Harry forced himself to stay on subject. “No, I mean being my slave. Or even just being a slave in general, seeing as how your first time around serving under someone didn’t go so well.”

Malfoy’s glare was furious enough for Harry to wonder if they were about to come to blows. Instead, Malfoy took a moment to clench and unclench his fists before speaking.

“In case the message wasn’t clear earlier, I am the _only_ wizard alive today with abundant knowledge on elves and their different customs. I _am_ the resident expert, and pity for you if you don’t want to work with me, but sending in anyone else in my stead would make this a suicide mission. The dark elves are a suspicious lot, and if things don’t go smoothly, they’ll likely be incensed into a united frontal attack on the high elves, rather than the furtive operations that have been happening thus far.”

“Alright, but why can’t you pick someone else who fought in the war? Someone you don’t have a history with to help keep things professional.”

Malfoy’s lip curled in disdain. It took him a moment to answer, but when he did, Harry was floored.

“There might be, but out of everyone else, I know you won’t go abusing such a position of power. Besides,” Malfoy quickly continued before Harry could voice his shock, “considering your uncanny and utterly annoying ability to survive and triumph over every evil you keep encountering, I rather like the odds for my making it out of this alive.”

Faced with the now stronger feeling of obligation to actually see this mission through, Harry cursed, turned to kick the nearest wall, and began to hobble back to the conference room.

“I can’t believe you’re willing to go along with this farce,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair in agitation.

“How else would you have it?” Malfoy demanded, his arms spread wide. When Harry paused, he rushed forward and lowered his voice to ensure their conversation remained semi-private, despite the curious glances they were now getting. “Like the high elves said, drow society doesn’t work like ours does, so it’s a damn miracle we’ve even been able to come up with a diplomatic response. But if you think you have a better idea, that isn’t just an attempt at you avoiding this mission, but something that might actually be helpful, then by all means, let’s hear it.”

Jaw clenched, Harry took a deep breath in an attempt to calm himself before answering. “If they really want me to go out there to talk, then we should be going as equals. You for lead negotiations and me for backup muscle if anything goes wrong.” He expected Malfoy would sympathize. Especially since this way, he would get to be back in the spotlight and get more of the glory.

“Merlin’s pants, Potter, what part of ‘drow society doesn’t work like ours’ do you not understand?” Malfoy looked so blown away by Harry’s lack of understanding that the auror couldn’t help but feel a bit stupid. “They are a different culture! A different species! They have no concept of equality! Every – every individual has a place! Has a rank! And if one wants more power, then they fight and kill their way up!”

His last words echoed through the hall, causing everyone nearby to stop and stare. Pursing his lips, Harry quickly threw up a _Muffliato_ charm and sent Malfoy a pointed look, which went ignored.

“If we went in there as equals, the elves would see a scholar ordering around a soldier and laugh at how backwards humans are, then either murder us where we stood under the claim that we insulted them, or toss us into a pit with a dryder for amusement – in which our result would still be death.”

Fully ready to argue how knowledge always equals power and has been known to trump brute strength, Harry found his brain fixating on the new and unknown word.

“What’s a dryder?”

“The last thing you’ll ever see, should you happen to encounter one,” Malfoy dismissed. “Now are you done trying to take the high and righteous road, or do I need to walk back in there and explain to Fyrhe and Ellm that you refuse to help their people because the drow represent everything you despise and you can’t even stand the thought of being in the same room as one? Or I could be even more honest and tell them it’s because you can’t stand being in the same room as me.”

Harry winced. He had assumed the animosity would still go both ways, leaving Malfoy just as unwilling to go through with the mission as he was, but apparently Malfoy loved his job more than he hated Harry.

“No. No, I’m…willing,” that was definitely not the right word, but Harry refused to solidly agree to the assignment until he heard all the details. “I just don’t understand what difference _I’m_ supposed to make when you all keep telling me the drow are so completely against diplomacy. I have half a mind to accuse you of trying to kill me off if you weren’t expected to accompany me.”

Malfoy’s sneer was full of disgust as he pointedly looked away. “Because to them, you’re still known as The Boy Who Lived. The Savior of the Wizarding World.”

Harry wanted to point out that he was, unfortunately, still known by those titles locally. But he had a feeling it would be highly detrimental to the conversation.

“Despite their isolation from humans, they’ve _heard_ of you. And when someone’s name carries enough power to bridge the gap across entire realms of magic, it’s not something to be ignored,” Malfoy explained, glancing down at the floor before bringing his attention back to Harry. “If the high elves know of you, then the drow know of you, and will treat you as a guest so long as we tread carefully enough not to insult them.”

“Okay,” Harry nodded. His agreement was interrupted by a sudden thought. “But how do we know we won’t be insulting them by telling them to leave the high elves alone?”

“We don’t, and that’s a hurdle we’ll have to face once we’re there.”

Harry wasn’t sure he was entirely satisfied with that answer, but enough of his ire had died out to make him more open to suggestion.

“Fine,” he gave in shortly, and dispelled the _Muffliato_ charm surrounding them before turning to reenter the conference room.

Once through the door, though, he stopped short.

“Where did the elves go?” he demanded, eyes locked on the empty chairs, barely noticing Malfoy elbowing him out of the way so that he could enter as well.

“Seeing as how there was so much dissonance, they decided it best to spare us the further embarrassment of being present for any more arguments and left.” Director Singh was noticeably irritated, and his level stare had Harry fidgeting. “Should we decide to get our act together, we have their permission to send word on the outcome of your decision. So what say you, Potter? Would you care to grace us with your preferably passive and quiet presence, or should I save myself the trouble and declare this meeting adjourned?”

“Uh, no, that won’t be necessary.”

At Singh’s pointed look, Harry cleared his throat and moved to return to his previous seat, ignoring Ron’s curious glances between him and Malfoy.

“Sir, could we please hear the exact parameters of this assignment?” he asked, pulling a small blank scroll from his robe pocket and grabbing one of the Ministry’s quills and ink bottles from the table to take notes.

“ _Now_ he’s willing to act professional,” Singh sighed out, his eyes rolling heavenward and his arms spreading out with his palms facing the ceiling. His head tilted back, and his eyes squeezed shut while he began to silently mouth what Harry could only assume to be a prayer for patience.

Ron took the opportunity to snatch Harry’s quill and leaned over to write on the parchment.

‘ _We’re doing this?’_

Harry bit his lip, taking the quill back to shortly answer, ‘ _Yes._ ’

Ron was quick to snatch the feather right back. ‘ _Brill. Tell DM I hate milk in my tea._ ’

Harry frowned at the message and was slow to take back the quill. Malfoy’s words of not abusing the power held over him were still far too fresh in his mind.

“H.A. Robards has agreed to loan you two out for this covert, and hopefully diplomatic, mission.” Singh’s words had Harry flipping over his parchment. “Potter and Malfoy are charged with the task of traversing into dark elf territory to try and persuade them against attacking their neighboring high elves by reminding them they are under the protection of the human realm.”

Harry frowned in confusion. Hogwarts may have had the most boring history class of all the wizarding schools in Europe, but from what he remembered, any dealings they had with elves were nearly nonexistent. A quick glance at Ron seemed to put him in agreement.

“Uhm, sorry, but do we actually have something to back up that claim?” Harry asked, tapping his middle finger against the table as he stared down Singh.

“Maybe,” Singh relented halfheartedly, leaning back in his chair. “There’s a chance we may find a treaty with the high elves somewhere in the archives. Probably something Merlin drew up, seeing as how he made it a point to make treaties with everything he could think of back in the day.”

Harry didn’t bother to hide his snort. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d like a solid copy in my hands before I go making such a claim, thanks.”

“We’ll look into it,” Singh promised, casting a significant glance Malfoy’s way, to which he received a dark sneer in return. Ignoring it, Singh continued on. “Make sure you study up on the drow – basic politics and the like. Even though Malfoy will be with you, it will still be you who will be doing the majority of the talking, as well as making split second decisions that could heavily sway the drow’s opinion of you. Might want to brush up on your Elvish, too…”

“So what Fyrhe said is true?” At Singh’s silent inquiry, Harry elaborated. “You really plan on having Malfoy pose as my…slave?”

With a heavy sigh, Singh looked to his sullen member of staff, who had gone back to studiously avoiding eye contact with everyone.

“Should he choose to accept the mission, then yes.”

“And if he doesn’t, am I Harry’s backup slave or something?” Ron asked with a raise of his hand, bringing himself into the conversation.

The very idea made Harry feel even queasier than he had with Malfoy.

“No, Mr. Weasley, you will be their eyes and ears above ground. Depending on how negotiations go, we may be able to convince your department to send out another team or two for reinforcements, but despite what I’ve seen so far,” an unfavorable glance was sent towards Harry, “I’m clinging to the hope that things won’t deteriorate to that point.”

“And meanwhile, Harry will be at ground zero, alone with Malfoy as his only immediate backup.” Ron sounded less than impressed with the whole situation. “Considering what everyone seems to know of our past, do you really think that decision is wise?”

Harry blinked in surprise. Ron challenging a superior’s tactics was nothing new. He did it so often during mission debriefings that it would have been even more shocking if his hand hadn’t gone up at all. But he also usually did so without subtly questioning the superior’s intelligence or motives.

“Ron…”

“No, I’m serious,” Ron continued, stubbornly ignoring Harry’s warning whisper. “We’ve been on loads of dangerous missions since we were first years in school. But it’s always been with someone trustworthy. So he’s the expert on elves and knows how to get us in the door and seated at the table without making pants of it all, fine. Great. But that doesn’t mean a thing if he’s going to turn tail to save his own hide at the first sign of trouble.”

“Too scared to go on a long term mission without your girlfriend, Weasley?” Malfoy immediately countered at the insult.

“She’s my _fiancée_ ,” Ron corrected fiercely, his temper momentarily getting the best of him. He reined it back in with a challenging smirk. “Bet I could convince all in charge to replace her with you in a heartbeat.”

Malfoy sputtered, his outrage turning his entire face an alarming shade of hot pink. “You wouldn’t dare!”

Ron’s eyes narrowed. “When it comes to my best friend’s life, you bet your broomstick I would. Give Hermione a week to study up on the material, and we’d be more than ready to go.”

Harry’s wand was in hand nearly in tandem with Malfoy. But before he could get a shield up around Ron, the potted plant started to quiver and rustle and Director Singh finally, truly, lost his temper.

“That’s _enough!_ ” All three wands went flying into Singh’s waiting palm, leaving the owners to wince at the sound of the woods grinding together as Singh closed his fist around them with far more force that necessary. “In all my years dealing with unruly aurors, _you_ —”

His rant immediately degraded into what Harry thought was Punjabi, but he was pretty positive he heard a bit of Mermaid screeching mixed in with what he would later guess to be Dragon…provided dragons even had a language, let alone one that could be deciphered.

Backs ramrod straight, Ron and Harry exchanged alarmed glances, both wondering just how much trouble they would be in once word of all this got back to Robards. Malfoy, on the other hand, seemed to be calculating the best way to get his wand back unnoticed. At least, he was until the potted plant burst into flames, nearly singeing his robes.

Fortunately, the fire worked as an immediate diversion, with Singh cutting himself off with a slammed fist to the table and shouted, “ _Damn!_ I did it _again!_ ”

He pulled out his own wand to extinguish the flames and wearily placed the others on the table before him. No one dared move.

“As the one in charge, Mr. Weasley, I am telling you now, I have no intention of replacing Mr. Malfoy. Just as you have been on many an adventure to earn your title and badge today, so has Malfoy in his quest for the knowledge that has made him the expert he now is.” Singh’s stern gaze swept over everyone. “Whatever happened between you all in the past is just that – in the past. You may not trust Malfoy with your life, that’s fine. It’s your job anyways when it comes to life or death, not his. But as for what you all are about to do, for him, it’s his job _and_ passion, and you can damn well trust him to that.”

The following silence had Harry’s ears ringing.

“So—” Ron cleared his throat. “Sorry, sir. And…sorry, Malfoy,” he mumbled out.

Malfoy, on his part, looked far too astonished to even gloat.

“Now,” Singh began slowly. “I’m going to give back your wands. Do you think you all can handle continuing our discussion with rational minds and cool tempers?”

Everyone quietly nodded and murmured their thanks as their wands returned to their hands.

Singh waited until the wands were all tucked back in their robe pockets before nodding in satisfaction.

“Mr. Malfoy, do you think you could take it from here?”

“Yes…” Malfoy’s answer was a bit absent-minded. He seemed to be staring at his scrolls in an attempt to gather his thoughts. “The high elves may come off as a generally accepting bunch, but that’s mainly because they’re convinced humanity is a rather stupid race and are resigned to the fact.” He drew in a deep breath and brought his eyes up to meet Ron’s. “Weasley, I’ll owl you a copy of a few of my journals for you to read through so you can hopefully save yourself from lessening their opinion of us even further. Other than that, they’ll be more than happy to share with you any further information you may think you require while on location.”

Ron remained tight lipped as he gave a short nod.

“Potter…” Malfoy drummed his fingers against the tabletop in thought. “As loathe as I am to suggest it, you and I will need to set up another meeting so I can properly educate you on what we know of dark elf culture.”

Harry’s frown felt too much like a pout for his liking. “Why can’t I just have a journal like Ron?”

Malfoy’s answering frown was a tad closer to a sneer. “Because I haven’t visited any dark elves in order to have written one. All I know about them has been garnered from what I’ve heard during my travels and what I’ve managed to piece together in my research. Even if I were to have the time to compile all my data into an essay for you to read over before we’re expected to embark, judging by our discussion outside, I highly doubt the more relevant facts will make it through your thick skull.”

Harry could feel his defenses rising. “That’s—”

“But if you don’t need me to hold your hand, then fine,” Malfoy haughtily continued on. “Do the research on your own. Then meet with me next Tuesday to either personally hand in your parchment detailing everything you understand, or be ready to cancel whatever plans you may have for the day in favor of a very long, grueling lesson on how I expect you to do your job in making sure we live. Fair enough?”

Harry wanted to say no. Merlin, how he wanted to scoff and say no. But he couldn’t think of a single suggestion to counter it. So instead, he sulked back in his chair, stubbornly crossed his arms, and silently nodded his head.

Malfoy’s look of glee, and Singh’s exasperated eye roll told him he didn’t exactly succeed in not looking like a petulant teenager rather than a highly trained auror.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Harry’s first knock on the door went unanswered, so he tried again. When silence met that one as well, he turned to look back at Robards’ secretary, who simply put up his hands in dismissal and returned his attention back to the alarm clock that was lying in pieces all over his desk. With a sigh, Harry knocked yet again.

“Head Robards?”

He decided to give Ron’s preferred method of entry a shot, which was simply trying the door handle. It opened with ease, and Harry stepped in, only to immediately duck at the shout of “ _Stupefy!_ ”

The bolt of red light grazed Harry’s elbow, causing his funny bone to erupt in pain while the rest of his arm went slightly numb.

“Ow! Head Robards?” He spotted a shoe poking out from the side of the large desk and crawled over on his knees, massaging his elbow. He found the Head Auror curled awkwardly into the space underneath. “Head Robards, what are you doing?”

Robards regarded Harry with wide, panicked eyes. “Nothing,” he admitted, remaining as he was for a moment longer before smoothly unfurling himself out from his hiding place. “What are you doing breaking into my office, Potter? That door was locked.”

“Actually, sir, it wasn’t,” Harry corrected, following his boss’ example and standing as well. “I wanted to ask—”

“It wasn’t?” Robards seemed startled by the news. “Where the hell was my secretary?”

“O’ Malley’s at his desk, working on your time management, I think.” Harry went to take a seat and make himself comfortable. It looked like it was going to take a few minutes to get around to the reason of his visit.

“He didn’t try to stop you? Or tell you to go away?”

Harry’s eyebrows went up. “Was he supposed to?”

“What good is that useless—?” Robards pulled his chair forward and sat down behind his desk. “Tell him he’s fired when you leave.”

“Yes, sir.” His funny bone had stopped screaming at him, so Harry began to focus on opening and closing his fist, hoping to bring some feeling back into his arm. “Sir, I have a question for you.”

Shoving aside one of the many mountainous piles of paperwork that overtook his desk, Robards continued to elbow the thing even after he could make clear eye contact, stopping only after it fell to the floor and scattered files and parchment everywhere.

“What?” he asked with a look of immense satisfaction on his face.

“This may come off as a fairly stupid question, but it occurred to me that it was never discussed in training or any time after. Where exactly do we get our research?”

The question had Robards frowning. “What? Explain.”

Harry shifted in his seat. “Well, it’s just that, we have the archives for past cases, and all the new stuff comes in with the basic research already attached. I was just wondering if the Ministry maybe has a – a library or something for when more digging is needed.”

Robards stared hard at Harry for a long moment before leaning back, his chair giving a long, drawn out squeak in protest. “This is about that elf deployment holiday you and Weasley agreed to.”

“I’d hardly call it a holiday, sir, b—”

Robards’ skeptical grunt was loud enough to convince Harry to stop while he was ahead.

“Potter, do you want to know why I agreed to release you both to the Magical Creature Department?” Robards continued on before Harry could answer the rhetorical question. “Because unless a new dark witch or wizard comes into power within the next week or so, your next rotation puts you on security detail for the Ministry. And quite frankly, the two of you tend to cause about half of the problems you’re supposed to be preventing when we trap you in the building for work.”

Harry hardly thought the accusation was fair, regardless of how true it was. If they were stationed in the atrium, it tended to cause a massive backup in traffic around the Floo networks as visitors and workers alike made it a habit to stop and stare – and sometimes go as far as to ask for pictures or autographs. Then there was that incident with the witch who took Ron on as a personal bodyguard and tried to have her coworker arrested in a bit of office drama. And there was that other witch who had cast the heating charms up so high in an attempt to entice Harry into stripping when he was on duty up on level three. And Harry could hardly be blamed for the influx of mail charmed to follow him around whenever Valentine’s Day approached!

“So really, I’d rather put up with the rest of the department moaning about you two getting a vacation disguised as an assignment rather than dealing with interdepartmental complaints and requests.”

Harry frowned. “Sir, it’s really not – what exactly did they tell you when they requested us for the mission?”

“That the high elves were asking for you two by name to help with a territory dispute.” Robards’ eyes narrowed. “Are you telling me they lied and you’re not dealing with elves over a territory dispute?”

Harry opened his mouth and hesitated. Was it a territory dispute? They hadn’t been very clear on that point, being far too busy focusing on how dangerous the drow were.

But…maybe everyone was making the dark elves out to be a bigger deal than they really were? He wouldn’t be surprised, seeing as how when people were passionate about something, they tended to make those issues larger than life. And considering how blasé Robards’ seemed to be about it…

“No, sir. It is just that. They just – it didn’t really sound much like a vacation when they gave the details is all.”

Robards chuckled and leaned forward in his chair. “You greenhorns. Always expecting every mission to be wrought with danger.” He shook his head. “Usually, if we need information that crosses over into another department, we just send them a missive and they’ll send their research our way. If you’re looking for more knowledge on elf life, just ask them to put you in touch with whoever their resident expert is.”

Harry felt his hope sink down to his toes. “Right. That would be how our system works.” Despite the unwanted answer, he wasn’t quite ready to give up. “But surely the Ministry has a library I’ve never heard about? At least someplace where it keeps all of its bureaucratically-related information available to everyone?”

“No.” Robards’ amusement was gone. “You want the information from a book, you go to a bookstore, Potter. You want cutting edge research to ensure things go smooth on your mission, you owl whichever expert the Magical Creature Department puts you in touch with.”

“Great,” Harry muttered, pushing himself to his feet. “Thank you for your help, Head Robards.”

“What? That’s it?” Robards cast a forlorn glance at his mounds of paperwork. “You only had the one question?”

“Unfortunately,” Harry sighed out. He motioned to the mess on the floor. “I’ll let you get back to your work.”

He ignored the muttered cursing as he turned to leave, making it a point to shut the door behind him.

“Head Robards said you’re fired,” he remembered to tell O’Malley as he passed the desk, ignoring his much louder curses as well.

Harry wasn’t too worried about it. O’Malley was typically fired at least twice a month, only to be immediately rehired when Robards stepped out to find no one else could be bothered to deliver him coffee or ensure he ate his meals on time.

O’Malley also made some of the best eggy pasties Harry ever had the pleasure of tasting. They were well known in helping to keep the auror department going bright and early after pulling an all-nighter.

Harry was certainly going to miss those. He doubted the dark elves had anything even close to eggy pasties.

“So what’d the H.A. say?” Ron asked as soon as Harry stopped short upon entering their joint office.

“Erm…” Rather than answer, Harry’s eyes darted around the room, unsure of how to feel about all their furniture being gone and everything else, including Ron, left floating midair. “Where’s…?”

“Been brushing up on my Disillusionment Charm.” Ron looked around proudly. “I figure if I can cast it this strong on immovable objects, I’ll be able to make living things perfectly invisible in no time!”

Harry took a cautious step into the room. And then another. “That’s fantastic. How am I supposed to find my chair?”

“With senses that have been honed after an entire lifetime of defeating evil.” Ron joked while reaching for his wand. “What did Robards have to say?”

“To contact Malfoy,” Harry sighed, heading towards the chair that was slowly reappearing. “Well, to contact whichever expert Magical Creatures points me in the direction of,” he amended at his partner’s wide-eyed look of surprise.

Rapidly putting two and two together, Ron’s face scrunched in sympathy. “Sucks, mate. Think if you tried writing to him anonymously he’d cough up the info you need?”

Harry shook his head. “Not in time for Tuesday’s meeting.” He was starting to regret waiting a day to get started on his research. It was now Thursday, and since the Ministry shut down cold on the weekends, it left him with a day and a half to try to use whatever official channels he could to find his information.

Problem was he hadn’t expected his official channels to be so limited in options.

“You could always try asking Hermione.” Ron’s face lit up in a dreamy smile. “She knows everything. Or you could do as she does and pick up a book. Maybe read it as opposed to throwing it at glass objects in a fit of rage.”

“That was one ti—”

“Twice.”

“Fine. Tw—”

“Three times, actually, now that I think about it.” Ron responded to Harry’s glare with a cheeky grin. “And that’s only counting the times I know of.”

“The problem is,” Harry spoke through gritted teeth, “There isn’t a library here at the Ministry for me to do any research.”

Ron shrugged. “A bookstore then. And if they don’t have anything, you could always have them special order it.”

“Yeah, but I doubt it would get here in _time_.” Regardless, Harry moved to stand back up, ready to follow the suggestion. “Do me a favor and owl Hermione? I have a feeling I’m still going to need her help even if I get lucky enough to find anything useful.”

Rather than affirm the request, Ron winced and apologized as Harry slammed his hip into the edge of his still-invisible desk.

+

Flourish and Blotts turned out to be a bust. The only information they had to offer on dark elves were a few chapters of lore located in the myths and legends section. Harry had skimmed through them, only to be reminded of the supposed brutality and danger he would be walking into in a few weeks’ time.

He tried a few other bookstores he knew of, including one in Knockturn Alley the MLE was constantly busting for selling cursed products. None of them came through, and the one on Knockturn Alley even had the gall to throw him out when he admitted he wasn’t exactly there on official business.

Harry got his revenge by turning right back around and launching a full-scale investigation simply because he could, something his reputation allowed for him get away with every now and then. This led to the breakthrough of a rather tough case the aurors had been struggling with for months, as well as the permanent shutdown of said Knockturn Alley bookstore.

The Ministry was quite proud, despite the newspaper headlines reading ‘BOY WHO LIVED TWICE SHUTS DOWN BOOKSTORE FOR NOT CARRYING PREFERRED TITLE’.

Hermione found the article to be entertaining enough to quote bits and pieces over brunch on Saturday, which ended up being the first spot of free time Harry had since he had let his ire take over on Thursday afternoon.

“Hermione, why must you insist on torturing me this way?”

“Because when Ron finally shuffled through the door at two this morning, his first and only words to me in thirty-six hours were a mumbled, ‘Just read the paper in a few hours. It’ll be in there, yeah?’ before passing out face first in our bed.” Hermione frowned at _The Daily Prophet_. “Although the title is extremely misleading and had me worried you had caused some sort of incident that the Ministry was stuck trying to smooth over.”

Harry’s fork clattered loudly against his plate as he abruptly set it down.

“It was just a silly initial thought!” Hermione exclaimed defensively at the look of offended disbelief she was being subjected to. “Honestly, if I had known you were going to be this grumpy, I would have sent you straight back to your flat for another six hours of sleep the second you showed up at the door.”

Harry shook his head. “Can’t afford to waste the day,” he said while shoveling another forkful of eggs into his mouth.

He missed eggs. O’Malley hadn’t been around to offer up his eggy pasties to those who had been working on the case as they hit the eighteen hour mark. Rookie Schofield had cried, which led to Robbards making a rather inspiring speech about how they were some of the best wizards and witches out there, and were, therefore, better than homemade eggy pasties.

The speech ended with, “Damn it, I’ll go owl him now.” It was very motivational.

“Why not?”

Harry snapped back to the present and found he had no clue what they were supposed to be talking about. “What?”

“Why can’t you afford to waste a day?” Hermione clarified, far too used to the spaced out state of mind her two best friends tended to drift in after pulling all-nighters at work.

“Oh!” Harry pushed aside his meal so that he could rest his elbows on the table. “I need your help.”

Hermione leaned back warily. “With what?” She had long since learned not to trust those words after the boys had worked anything more than a double shift.

“I need you to tell me everything you know about dark elves. And please tell me you do know something because they don’t seem to exist in books.”

Eyes darting to the newspaper headline beside her, Hermione bit her lip in thought even as she shook her head. “They’re generally treated as a myth, but I’m assuming that’s not the case?”

Harry nodded. “As personally confirmed by a couple of high elves earlier this week.”

“How does this even fall under your jurisdiction?”

“Special assignment.” Harry pulled off his glasses to rub at his still-tired eyes. “Ron’s coming, too.”

“When—?”

“Dunno yet. Not until after Tuesday, at least.”

Hermione sighed and cradled her tea in her hands. “Well, from what little I’ve read on them, they seem to be the black sheep of the elf family. You aren’t expected to deal with them in person, are you?”

Harry let out a laugh. “I’ve been guaranteed by the field expert that we’ll be doing things in the most diplomatic means possible, if that will reassure you any.”

“Harry, if the stories about them are true—”

“Then I’m doomed if I offend them in any way or form.” Harry dropped his hands to the table. “I’m aware about that bit, thanks.”

“I’m afraid I can’t tell you much else,” Hermione apologized. “In all my research, they’ve only ever been mentioned in passing, and usually it’s just about some poor sap’s distant relative who made the mistake of dealing with them in the first place.”

Harry frowned, and then silently pulled his plate back before him to continue eating.

“I mean, if I could remember which of my books mentions them, maybe we’ll be able to piece together a common trait in what makes them tick to ensure that you keep your nose and other…various appendages.”

“That’s good. That’s a great idea!” Harry managed around a mouthful of food. “You could find the stories, and I could make a list, and together we can come up with enough information for an essay that’s at least a good twelve inches, yeah?”

Hermione shook her head. “Sorry to break your sudden optimism, but your essay would probably be closer to six inches, and that’s a number we would only manage to achieve if we comb through my entire library.”

Harry’s jaw dropped. “But my deadline is Tuesday!”

“They’re extremely rare, elusive creatures! The fact that you’re expected to even meet one is enough to make headlining news should any reporters find out!” Hermione exclaimed. “And for once the article would be more focused on the other party, rather than just you. Have you tried asking around? The field expert, surely, would be more knowledgeable than me.”

“That’s an option we’re trying to avoid,” Harry said stubbornly.

“Oookay, what about the high elves?”

“Gone.”

“A house elf? Kreacher? He might—”

“Tried that.”

“And?” Hermione prompted when Harry failed to elaborate.

Harry frowned down at his food before meeting her eyes. “And he screamed, threw the pot he had been holding in the air so that he could clutch at his chest, and fell to the ground in shock. When I tried to see if I had accidentally killed him, he started cursing me for even daring to mention the drow in his presence and informed me that not even the noble Blacks would be so cruel.”

Shortly after, Kreacher had served Harry a dinner of blackened, unrecognizable charcoal clumps, and shuffled off, muttering about suffering from trauma at the words of such a cruel master. Harry had decided it best not to ask again.

“That’s assuming the Blacks knew anything abou—” Hermione stopped herself mid-eye roll. “Wait. That’s a possibility. What about asking someone from one of the older wizarding families? They might have an out of print book buried in their family library, or know a bit more about the folklore surrounding dark elves passed down through bedtime stories at least.”

Harry’s mind immediately went to the Malfoy family line and those he remembered as Death Eaters from years before, and frowned. “Herm, we don’t like those families.”

Immediately catching onto his train of thought, Hermione scoffed. “Not all ancient lines are dark!”

Harry stubbornly remained skeptical. “No, the rest are just barmy.”

“I don’t know, you turned out pretty okay.” Hermione hid her cheeky grin behind her mug.

The returning smile was only half-hearted. “Yeah, but I don’t exactly have a family library at my disposal.”

Hermione blew out an exasperated sigh and began tapping her ring and middle fingers against the porcelain of her cup.

Eyes drawn by the movement, Harry stared morosely at the engagement ring Hermione never took off. Ron was convinced she was going to lose it in her sleep or have it washed down the drain, or even snatched off her finger by a greedy goblin in some sort of drive-by mugging. The complaints and teasing were at complete odds with the look of fierce pride and happiness that shone through Ron’s eyes every time he noticed the ring.

It was a simple piece; three small diamonds embedded into an etched silver band. Ron had been a bit agitated when he made the decision to buy it, complaining how because his family was so large, major heirlooms (such as really nice engagement rings) never got a chance to make it down to him, regardless of how far back his family…went.

"The Weasleys!" Harry figured out triumphantly. "You're a genius!"

Hermione's smile was proud.

“I should go see Ginny.”

Surprise slackened the smile off Hermione’s face almost comically. “What? Why?”

Harry shrugged, taking one last bite of toast before carrying his plate over to the sink. “Ron can’t really give me answers about his family tree seeing as how he’s sleeping. Plus I haven’t seen her in a while.”

Hermione stood up, moving to block his exit. “No. Harry, you always do this, and it’s a bad idea.”

Harry stared cluelessly at his friend. “Always do what? Go to Ginny for information on cases?” He scoffed and shook his head. “If anything, we always argue about which quidditch players would make our ultimate dream team.”

“No! You—” Hermione clenched her jaw, looking both hopeless and frustrated. “I can’t believe how completely blind you are. You know she’s dating Silas.”

“Still?” Harry’s face went a bit blank. “Well, good for her. She deserves something serious.”

“Harry…”

“Look, it’ll be fine. I’m just going over to get facts on the family. It’ll be completely professional.” He pulled his robe off the chair it was draped over. “I doubt I’ll find much, though. If Ron had a family library, he surely would have mentioned it to you beforehand in an attempt to win you over.”

A reluctant grin slowly stretched across Hermione’s features. “Like he would ever need to resort to such a desperate means to woo me.”

Harry laughed as he slipped on his robe. “Clearly he needs to step up his game. I’ll see you, yeah?”

Hermione nodded, fixing Harry with a fierce stare. “I’m owling you tonight. If I don’t have a reply from you first thing tomorrow morning…”

“Herm, come on. We’re all adults now!” Harry squeezed by her and made his way to the front door. “Just because there have been some…slips in the past, doesn’t mean anything’s going to happen while Ginny’s committed to Silas the Curse Breaker.”

Hermione’s frown was reprimanding, but rather than argue, she just rolled her eyes and gave Harry a shove out the door.

“Dinner on Tuesday,” she announced. “Something tells me you’ll need it.”

“How do you know me so well?” Harry teased.

“I’m serious about that owl!”

Deciding now was a good time as ever to stop with the banter, Harry turned and headed toward the building’s stairs. Honestly, just because his job had prevented him from finding anyone to settle down with, didn’t mean Ginny’s emotions were on the line every time they met up. She moved on, he…mostly moved on, they were both in a good place.

Really.

 

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone can think of a better summary for this story, I would be more than happy to hear it.
> 
> Sometimes, I write HP drabbles over on [tumblr](http://ahjareyn.tumblr.com/tagged/reyn-writes-harry-potter).


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